


All She Sees Is Red

by Ingoma



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Author is salty, Author is very salty, Childhood Trauma, Family, Fear of Death, Gen, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, I like Wanda Maximoff, Jewish Wanda Maximoff, Kid Pietro Maximoff, Kid Wanda Maximoff, Menstruation, Mild Blood, Nonverbal Wanda Maximoff, POV Second Person, POV Wanda Maximoff, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Canon, Prose Poem, WANDA MAXIMOFF IS NOT A MONSTER!, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingoma/pseuds/Ingoma
Summary: Your county is bombed. All you saw was Stark Industries. Pietro was taken away. How can you expect to stay 'normal.'A Poem of Wanda Maximoff's life.





	All She Sees Is Red

You were ten when the bombs fell

Sokovia was your home. It was crippled by corruption,

From the empires who,

Profited from

Its starving state.

Its people wanted to rise, but

The west wanted peace, even

If it meant the bombs, that

Feel from the sky, and

Slaughtered like pigs, the

Sokovians

But

You didn't know that.

You didn't know that, as you clung to your brother, Pietro.

You didn't know that, as he reassured you, though he was just as frightened.

You didn't know that, as the eyes of your parents, dead, stared at you.

_(They were decaying)_

You didn't know that if the bomb you were inches away from had gone off, you'd be dead.

All you know was the terror. The nightmare

The nightmare that was your life

And the words, barely able to be made out from the little English script that you knew, whispered

The name of your destruction

Stark Industries.

_(Stark Industries)_

* * *

 

You left the hospital in a few hours.

The foreigners found you and your brother dehydrated, and cut from the shrapnel.

Others had worse injuries.

Others had no brother to stay with.

You were placed in a group home with the other dead children,

Pietro was the oldest,

He was born first.

_(Mama would laugh as she said how fast he had come)_

Stop it.

You stared at the tasteless food.

Eat it or another would.

Pietro had finished.

_(Pietro was gone they put him in a different home for boys)_

Stop it.

Pietro was there.

"Eat it. And then we can play," he said.

You ate it, wishing for Mama's thin soup she served when the paycheck hadn't arrived

_(The company didn't pay Papa for the three days of work since it had closed on the fourth)_

You hissed at a girl, clutching a rag, as she came too close

She was young,

Too young,

For all the horrors

That the bombs had caused

You turned away from the mirror.

* * *

 

Speaking was a necessity.

You didn't understand.

When your mouth opened, nothing came out.

You were punished for this.

"Did a witch curse you, or are you one?" taunted a younger girl.

She was taken by a western couple.

She could speak.

You wish for Pietro, and he comes.

But he is a wisp of fog.

He hugs you, but you can't feel it.

_(Mama where is mama She's dead Pietro pietro pietropietropietropietro)_

Stop it.

Math was easy. It was all written down.

English was taught.

No Sokovian was taught.

_(Another language a language of Jews A bit from Papa)_

Stop it.

The flowing lines replaced by a straight block.

The natural flow replaced by odd verbs and articles.

Speaking Sokovian was forbidden.

"English is better. English speakers are adopted."

You didn't want to leave.

You didn't want to stay.

You wanted Pietro.

* * *

 

The world won't stop screaming

_(Dinner was good Fresh potatoes from the explosion)_

Stop it.

_(Pietro was next to you Mama was looking at you She wasn't moving, oh no no no nononono)_

Stop it.

_(Hit and hit and hit and blood. All you have is red and red is everywhere, and Pietro is red)_

Stop it.

_(Stark Industries)_

Stop it.

_(And the stench was your mama and your brother curled tighter and screams and screams and)_

"STOP IT!"

You had said that aloud.

It was too late.

People don't adopt broken cargo, you were too old.

_(I love you said mama and my wanda and my pietro I love you my scarlet and silver)_

The screams won't stop.

You still can't speak

And

It was the last night before you

Were to be taken away

To some orphanage without toys

And still no Pietro.

"Wanda?" a whisper

Pietro?

* * *

 

You and Pietro ran away.

It had been your birthday, you forgot.

We were eleven.

So alone still.

Pietro didn't ask you to speak,

Not after the first time.

He was wearing a red cap

He was a pencil.

Or were pencils fatter?

You camped together in alleys of rubble

And debris

Avoiding foreigners

There to say they had come.

You didn't know that yet.

Foreiners took you away

Forced you to speak.

You still couldn't speak.

Screaming and Phantom Pietro still came.

At night, Pietro would whisper stories of his house.

He was called Peter and told him he was Aryan.

Pietro said he was Sokovian, and Jewish.

So they beat him.

Pietro escaped but

You can trace the scars.

* * *

 

You had a good day.

You found some food.

The city had some money

And built some houses

That no one could afford

Except the rich.

But you and Pietro ate.

He told of his time

Beating someone who

Decided to race him.

You giggled slightly,

If the noise was a giggle.

Later, you and Pietro

Watched the stars and

Found a forgotten bill.

A good, American bill.

It had a one on it.

You should save it, but

Pietro walked up to a street vendor

And bought candy. A small bag

For you and him to share

When you took a piece, you said

"Thank you."

Your first two words since turning eleven.

* * *

 

It was red.

It was red.

Blood is red.

Why were you bleeding?

"Pietro!" you sobbed, and

The pain reverberated in you, and

It was red, and

Blood was coming, and

You didn't know what

Was happening.

Pietro hugged you,

He whispered a story

Of a cheetah.

Pietro loved cheetahs.

He gave you some cloth he found

You hid them away

They caught the blood.

The pain continued to grow.

Why did it smell?

An older women came

She saw your bloody bandages

She asked you if

You knew what was happening.

You could only sob.

* * *

 

The blood stopped in a few days.

The blood stopped on you

And Pietro's

Birthday.

He promised

To look after you.

He promised

He wouldn't let anyone harm you.

But your body was

Harming you.

You found a flower

It was growing in

A crack, thriving

In the broken city

Of bombs.

You whispered

That you wouldn't be

Pushed down again.

You whispered

That you would blaze

Like the fire that

Was as orange as

That small flower.

You had turned 15

* * *

 

"Let's join a protest,"

You said to Pietro,

"Let's do something

For our country."

Pietro blinked

And he stuck out his tongue

Only the tip

And said

"We don't know

Politics or

How to change anything."

You had guessed his response.

"There is a book house.

They have computers."

Pietro said yes.

You both cleaned your clothes

And you brushed out

The mats in your hair.

You and Pietro found a computer

And you could use it

Said the 'librarian'

As much as you wanted

Unless there was a line.

You read everything.

* * *

 

Stark Industries.

Somehow it all traces back to Stark.

You read about the bombs

You read about the parties

You read about the Americans

With their wealth

Bombing you,

Killing your mother,

For nothing.

For nothing.

"Stark," you mouth.

Pietro closes his eyes.

A picture of the carnage,

And a banner saying

That this was good,

The genocide was justified,

That the Sokovians,

Your fist clenches, red,

Deserved this.

Pietro and you discover a protest

It is happening in a month

On your sixteenth birthday.

_(On the grass bleeding everything is red dust everyone is dead oh lila oh coop oh vision)_

Stop it.


End file.
